


Vergessen Wahrheit

by Umi (umichii)



Category: Original Work, Rebirth Moon
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism, Project Rebirth Moon, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umichii/pseuds/Umi
Summary: For centuries, the covens aren’t allowed to interact with each other, and this law they follow without a word. It is to avoid conflicts and wars between covens, but not within a coven itself. And this law Jeral Simoni ignores for the sake of his yearning to control.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original Notes from The Great 2009:
> 
> This one took me roughly a week. No planning, no plotting, no outlining, no nothing. Only a chart of the characters age from VW to SS, not to mention the laying out of the entire Syndrome universe's timeline. Despite its shortness, it holds the very main story of VW, which is all about how the black blood came to be. There may be much left to say about Jeral as the person himself, and I don't know how the folks at PSF will take this lack of fleshy, personal characterization. But this is it. If I will ever edit this... we'll see.

“This is absurd!”  
  
Lucian Romanov rolls his eyes, annoyed.  
  
“He’s a child! Just a 14 year old boy!”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Binder Hart spins around, glaring. “Don’t ‘Ah’ me!”  
  
“…Oh.” Deadpanned, Lucian stares at him lazily, daring Binder’s glare to sharpen. “In case you didn’t notice, majority wins.”  
  
“That doesn’t justify _why_ he’s chosen to be the heart. I mean…”  
  
Binder loses the next word. He just waves his hand in the air, as if emphasizing an unvoiced word. But Lucian gets the message already, even with his eyes closed. It doesn’t take a genius, really, to fully understand the Hart’s plight.  
  
“You just can’t accept that a kid beats you to it.”  
  
Binder freezes, his dark ice-blue eyes staring wide-eyed. “Pardon?” He blurts, definitely startled.  
  
Lucian doesn’t make any notion of repeating himself. He simply stands up, leaving his cup of tea untouched.  
  
“If you’ll excuse me, Binder, I’m leaving.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He turns to the ornately carved oaken door. H doesn’t need to listen to more of Binder’s ramblings.  
  
“Romanov! I’m not done talking yet!”  
  
“I have an important meeting. I don’t need you keeping me up.”  
  
“Lucian Romanov, coven matters are more important than your exchange of wealth.”  
  
Lucian opens the door slowly as he gives Binder one long, dull gaze.  
  
“ _My_ exchange of wealth is more important than your insolence.”  
  
“Romanov!”  
  
He closes the door with a thud louder than necessary. There’s always a small blossoming of satisfaction in his chest whenever he literally shuts the door at Binder’s face.  
  
A sleek, black car is waiting for him by the time he arrives outside the Hart mansion. A tinted window rolls down, revealing the face of a pretty young man, his long raven hair resting over a shoulder, a red ribbon keeping it together. Lucian smiles at him out of habit, pulling the car door open. The young man gives space as he settles in, relieving a sigh when head rests on leather.  
  
“Let me guess,” the young man muses, toying the end of his tail. “Binder Hart isn’t pleased with the leaders’ decision.”  
  
The Romanov snorts, earning a quirked brow from the young man.  
  
“Of course not. What else do you expect?”  
  
“That he’s not happy the house of Simoni is chosen yet again?”  
  
“It’s actually more like someone not him,” Lucian mutters, eyes shifting to the young man sitting beside him. “How did the meeting go?”  
  
The young man loses his smile, cringing a little. Lucian could already guess the aftermath.  
  
“Your aunt isn’t made the Romanov Queen for nothing.”  
  
“ _Jonathan_ ,” Lucian drawls, finally addressing the young man. His name still feels strange against his tongue, somehow. “I told you Auntie wouldn’t consider anyone without a real test, even if he’s recommended by me. I’ll be surprised if she wasn’t extra careful with you, if we actually think about your background.”  
  
This time, Jonathan finds the effort to glare at him, pouting a little. But Lucian just shrugs offhandedly. “I never forced you into this.”  
  
“Yet you forced the situation to me.”  
  
“Now we know that’s not entirely true.”  
  
“Says you. Now tell me more about Binder, you sly wolf.” Jonathan reminds, turning fully to face his friend turned boss. “You still have much to share.”  
  
“Well,” Lucian begins, “Binder doesn’t like the news, obviously, but there’s nothing we can do about that. Whatever the higher ups decide is absolute. Sadly, the Fate is cruel. Binder is gifted stupid, so stupid in fact that he can’t see nor understand this tiny traumatizing fact.”  
  
The car begins to move, and soon, they’re out of the Hart estate. Jonathan doesn’t say much of a word after Lucian spoke his last, and there’s not much either could think of to speak about until finally, Lucian stretches, crossing one knee over the other.  
  
“A fourteen year old brat,” he mumbles to no one in particular, yet he has definitely caught Jonathan’s attention. “The youngest in the coven’s history.”  
  
“And the most ambitious one, too.” Jonathan adds, startling Lucian.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“This boy—”  
  
Jonathan pauses, turning away from Lucian’s heavy, scrutinizing gaze. Then, he continues, “He’s more than what we all perceive. I believe the leaders didn’t choose him simply because of his power. Yes, he’s stronger than what his age permits, even more so than some of us, and I assure you this power will continue to grow as he reaches adulthood. But the point is, this boy, this _Jeral Simoni_ sees what we can’t see. He dreams what we don’t dream, and he thinks what we never thought of.”  
  
“And you think a kid possesses all that.” Lucian says, and much to his dismay, the seriousness in Jonathan’s eyes does not lie.  
  
Head hitting the backseat softly, Lucian lets out a loud, tired sigh.  
  
“I don’t think I’m going to like this.”  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
When Jeral exits the east wing and into the grand hall, he sees a young man together with who he assumes is the right-hand man conversing softly with his father, both of the men wearing imposing black suits. He doesn’t dare approach them, knowing fully well his father’s new animosity towards him.  
  
Surprisingly, his father doesn’t take the coven’s decision well, especially since _he_ has no place in casting down the votes. Jeral has no idea if his father dislikes his current situation because not only has he stolen his father’s seat, he has also taken the grandest title a member of the Niebelheim coven could ever hope for: the heart.  
  
Then again, is it considered stolen when it’s given to him, righteously and under the ultimate law? He doubts not, frankly. He just can’t vocally admit this, knowing that other ultimate (yet trivial, seriously) laws still hold greater power.  
  
“Jeral!”  
  
Snapping out of his reverie, the young boy looks down from the stairs, watching his father’s face very carefully. He has learned since child that no other man except his father can bare so much emotion in just one expression. If only this man isn’t his father, he would’ve frowned at him scornfully.  
  
“Yes, father,” he answers, keeping his voice soft and airy, blithely like most boys of his age. It is most unwise, he learned, to show even the tiniest inkling of him challenging his father.  
  
As his foot steps on the bottommost landing, his father stretches out an arm to usher him into _their_ circle, and Jeral can’t help but mimic that very fake smile his father casually wears for guests, complete with the sparkle of mirth in his baby blue eyes.  
  
These guests (he might as well include the right-hand man, since he looks to be important himself) happen to be people from the Romanov family, the family third to theirs in the coven’s hierarchy, and if he can reckon correctly, the family that will soon take over theirs if his father continues his reign as the Simoni leader. The Romanov have grown in power over the past five years, enough that they’ve overshadowed the second family.  
  
“It is a pleasure to finally be able to meet the boy-heart.”  
  
The young man known as Lucian Romanov smiles at him, slanted dark eyes perfectly framed by black tresses. At least there’s no disdain in that voice, although he could pick up the faint traces of doubt. Then he makes a gesture towards the long-haired man beside him, who he introduces as Jonathan Balteisse. As guessed, the latter _is_ the right-hand man.  
  
“ _Signor_ Simoni, I hope you won’t mind if I request a private meeting with your son.”  
  
Jeral’s interest towards this man grows immediately at such a suggestion, if not a demand, and even more when his father obviously bristles at the slight smile and narrowing of eyes this Lucian Romanov makes. He can feel the hidden threat in that request.  
  
“Romanov…”  
  
“A room very unlikely to be overheard and eavesdropped, _Signor_ Simoni, will suffice.”  
  
It’s now harder to hold back the snigger in him. He definitely doesn’t miss the sudden reddening of his father’s ears.  
  
When his father raises a hand, he thought violence will be dealt (his father usually does that, quite casually, too) until it simply waves a little, a butler arriving at once to usher them to a sitting room at the east wing. Jeral finds it strange that he has to be ushered around his own home, much less his personal wing.  
  
As the door closes, the lock falling into place, Jeral turns around and smiles brightly at his two guests, completely careless of anything they’ll bring.  
  
The smile only disappears though, falling into a frown, when Lucian Romanov’s face hardens and hands him a book, its leather bound cover elaborately decorated. The brand of a ring on its cover stows away whatever question he has in mind.  
  
“I hope you’ll understand, Jeral Simoni, that as the heart of the Niebelheim, it is your responsibility to face whatever problem and challenges that may arise. Be more aware of your surroundings, for it is now a part of your duty to be diligent and observant.”  
  
“Mister Romanov…”  
  
“I’m not here to preach on you, Jeral,” Lucian’s voice softens, his lips quirking into a slight smile again. “I’m only here to remind you why you resigned yourself to this ugly fate at such a young age.”  
  
The boy remains silent as he waits for further instruction. Of course, he should’ve expected it that there’s no other family other than the Romanov that the leaders themselves would trust their greatest treasure to and leave the responsibility of explaining.  
  
“The Niebelheim journal holds everything you need to know about the coven. From the coven’s creation to each of the seven families’ history, the many conflicts that arose and still remains, all of them can be found there. But its real purpose is to record every generation’s events, and as this generation’s heart, you now hold the power to write your own accounts.”  
  
“But Sir…”  
  
“Use the journal wisely, young Simoni.”  
  
This time, the Romanov’s right-hand man is the one who interrupts, giving him the same deep yet soft gaze that Lucian Romanov is giving him. Somehow, those eyes feel very familiar, yet he can’t pin down why.  
  
“No one is allowed to read the contents of the journal as long as there’s a heart, thus it is expected that such privilege will encourage the heart to avoid lying no matter how heavy the crime he may commit.”  
  
“I don’t know if I’m up for this,” Jeral finally speaks, and ultimately, confesses, startling the two adults. The right-hand man is the first one to recover, his lips bowing into a frown.  
  
“You know we can’t do with that, Jeral Simoni.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it that one can only be appointed, much less nominated, as the heart under his full consent?”  
  
“Well, yes, but—”  
  
“Then I don’t see why there’s hesitance now that judgment is given.”  
  
“You don’t get it!” He cries, earning a harsh look from the right-hand man. What _is_ with this man that he gives off more authority than the Romanov himself can give?  
  
“Enlighten me then, Simoni.”  
  
“I…”  
  
Why is it so hard for him to find the right word to fully express himself, this lingering feeling of self-doubt? It’s rare for him to have such problems even under one’s scrutinizing eyes.  
  
“Let it go, Jonathan,” Lucian Romanov finally speaks, breaking the very tense air culminating inside the sitting room. “He’s just new in this. Let him adapt first.”  
  
“But Lucian…”  
  
One look from the Romanov is enough to silence whatever this Jonathan wishes to speak, and again, Jeral is grateful for someone like Lucian.  
  
Lucian nods at him, making sure he’s holding the book protectively. “Now with this business settled, we shall be going, _bambino_. We are, after all, very busy men.”  
  
“Wait!”  
  
But his cry falls on deaf ears as the two walk away with barely a glance at him. And here he thought the heart’s word is God’s law. Guess he still have much to learn.  
  
The two men in their tailored suits step into their car, and they only pique his curiosity even more when Lucian Romanov opens the car door for the right-hand man to enter. That’s the first time he sees the master servicing the servant. Maybe life in the Romanov family is very much different from other families.  
  
Or that, maybe, it’s his family that’s too far at the top that they don’t even bother with those under them.  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
It is one particular account of a certain Mina Lee in the journal that strikes his curiosity and erases whatever doubts he has held. Until then, he never thought there exist other covens outside theirs. In fact, these covens don’t follow the same rules and lifestyle as theirs. It’s like these covens are on worlds of their own.  
  
These covens, as he soon come to realize, don’t share the same traits as theirs as well. If the Niebelheim coven gifts its members with otherworldly powers from the Spirit of the Niebelheim, these coven curses theirs with their own coven’s respective Spirit.  
  
Jeral can’t bring himself to imagine such a coven at work. _But_.  
  
He did imagine what it will be like once someone of a coven of such kind merges with one from the Niebelheim. What will the union’s end-result be? What kind of human, if it’s still human, will be conceived? Will the powers of both families be combined into one single being?  
  
He himself is a product of an interbreeding between two pure-blood Niebelheim families. Now if a pure-blood of his kind mixes with that of an outside coven, will it result to a greater being? If this is possible, then it’ll be very likely that this can lead to a creation of a new coven.  
  
In fact, now that he’s thinking about it, _this_ might be how a coven is born without the phenomenon of supernatural radiation and the Spirit’s intervention.  
  
He has to know the real answer. Thinking and wondering won’t do much for him until he proves it himself.  
  
But how? Rather, _where_ can he find such a coven, when it’s already hard enough for him to locate all of the seven families of the Niebelheim coven?  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
After summer turns to autumn, the third of their month meetings rolls away without much of a fuss. Never once did he voice out his curiosity about what he now calls the black blood, for the lack of a better term.  
  
But he knows.  
  
Jeral knows that someone in the coven have finally suspected him of something he doubts will spell good will for him, and it unnerves him to think that this person is Lucian Romanov himself. That’s why he’s very much surprised that when this person reveals himself, Jeral gets the opposite of what he expects.  
  
Binder Hart approached him one fine day without any shame, whatever sham he had just done hidden by the gleaming glasses perched on his nose. He hid no ulterior motives as he flaunted whatever he had the right to flaunt about, this much Jeral’s gift can tell in just one glance.  
  
But what he can’t figure out and what his gift can’t tell him is _how_ Binder Hart finds out about his secret, and this Jeral bluntly asks him now that he finally has the man’s attention focused solely on him.  
  
“Why can’t I hear your heart?”  
  
But the man smiles cryptically, and there Jeral understands why Lucian finds this man infuriating, judging from the many banters they hold everyone amused during coven meetings.  
  
“It’s because I can hear your thoughts.” Binder says, a finger tapping his own temple.  
  
He should’ve known someone like Binder isn’t someone he can easily manipulate to his liking.  
  
“Of course, I don’t mind playing mind games with you, kid. Actually, I _enjoy_ playing games like this. Do you wanna know why?”  
  
Jeral doesn’t answer, knowing fully well he’s beginning not to like this man, even less when Binder’s smile turns into a twisted grin.  
  
“It’s because I always win. No matter how hard they shield themselves or how they strengthen their resolves, every wall they built up will be destroyed by my power with just. One. _Look_.”  
  
Finally, unable to contain his annoyance anymore, Jeral glares unabashedly at the Hart, startling the older man. “I don’t need more braggarts in my coven, Binder Hart.”  
  
“Ah, but that’s where you got things wrong!”  
  
Those blue eyes disappear into crescent lines behind the glasses as the man himself laughs. That doesn’t help ease Jeral’s worry even just by a small fraction.  
  
“This ‘black blood’ that you speak—rather, you _think_ of. I believe I might have something that can help you.”  
  
It costs Jeral more than self-control to hold back the gasp lodged in his throat. Dumbly, he stares at the man standing in front of his desk, and lets his doubt float freely, waiting for the other to pick it up. And indeed it is picked up almost right after its surface.  
  
“You should know, _bambino_ , that secrecy is how we Harts do it.”  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
Under the pretense of coven matters, Jeral visits the Ægis’ headquarters at London without much of a fuss from the other elder leaders. He’s grateful for once that by the time he arrived, only one car (black, as usual) with no envoys attached awaits him. He prefers it this way, a silent visit.  
  
Ever since child, he’s known the Ægis as a lone group working directly under the Hart, sometimes overlapping with the Lee’s spies as well as clashing (quite frequently, he observed) against the Kudoku’s assassins. Yet it never reaches his knowledge just what the Ægis truly is. On the surface, everyone knows them as the guardians of the coven, but now that Jeral is finally inside their headquarter, examining every person present in this underground laboratory, he gets the feeling the Ægis the coven has come to know is greater than an ordinary lie.  
  
No wonder telepathy and mind-reading is the Hart’s usual gift as opposed to the Romanov’s precognition and hyper intuition.  
  
“You’ve finally done it, Binder Hart.” Jeral finds himself admitting in awe. The latter simply smiles in satisfaction before showing him into a large room that he guesses must be Binder’s personal laboratory.  
  
“Since years ago, we’ve been experimenting on mixing Niebelheim blood with that of an outsider’s. “  
  
“What kind of outsider?”  
  
On the far side of the wall hangs a corkboard, and upon closer observation, Jeral finds this covered all over with names and photos of who—rather, _what_ he guesses are the test subjects.  
  
“Obviously, those of normal, human blood. Up until now, we still can’t find someone from another coven. Some of the team has even given up on this project, calling Mina Lee’s accounts as dreams, if not memories of an extinct race.”  
  
“Real or not, we have to know,” Jeral answers, eyes still focus on the pictures. “We _must_ know if these covens truly exist, and that the possibility of a hybrid with powers stronger than the parents is true.”  
  
As if he can feel the other’s stare, he turns, catching Binder’s gaze with a leveled look of his own, letting his eyes speak in his voice’s stead.  
  
“You have something else bigger than the picture you’re showing me. Am I right, Jeral Simoni?”  
  
And he couldn’t but smile the same smile Binder is famous of. If he will judge the sudden look of apprehension n Binder’s face, then it means the smile suits him more than anybody else  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
It seems like he isn’t entirely wrong about Lucian Romanov being the one to discover his secret fascination with the mixing of coven bloodlines, although he is surprised at himself for forgetting that Lucian Romanov has the gift of foresight.  
  
As expected, Lucian isn’t quite keen with the idea, and judging by Lucian’s reaction, he can predict the rest will be sharing the same opinion.  
  
“What you’re doing here isn’t accepted by coven rules.”  
  
“What do you know about that?” He shoots back, clearly not caring about the nine year age gap. He believes that his power as the heart should overpower the rest, especially one as trivial age.  
  
Lucian huffs in frustration, unfazed.  
  
“Interaction with other covens isn’t allowed, kid. You of all people should know this. For centuries, the coven avoids interaction for the sake of avoiding conflicts. You’ve already set a record, Jeral. Don’t think of setting another one.”  
  
Nevertheless, hearing that coming from someone who’s rumored to be in danger of being kicked out his family infuriates him more than it should.  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
On the fifth day he visited the Ægis, he finds not Binder waiting for him. Instead, it’s his younger brother Syfer that stands there with a smile of his own. He wonders if it’s mandatory for each member of the Hart family to have his own smile.  
  
The man greets him with a warm smile, one that speaks of sincerity and kindness—the very exact opposite of Binder’s.  
  
“I’m glad to be able to meet you, Jeral.”  
  
He nods back with a blank look and an even blanker mind. He still has yet to know what this man’s power is.  
  
He’s taken aback when Syfer suddenly laughs, high-pitch and still in that developing stage of teenagers. “You don’t have to be so stiff with me, please. I’m not like my brother.”  
  
Slowly, he halts in his step, staring up at this strange young man (that has to work) oddly. The other continues speaking, still smiling brightly.  
  
“My brother always tells me I’m too soft to be an agent of Ægis, but I don’t mind. I’m still young, and I still have much to enjoy. That’s why I decided that before I become a man, I’m going to make each day fun so I won’t regret any lost childhood.”  
  
Jeral doesn’t know what to say, but Syfer doesn’t seem to mind. The latter only leads him into that laboratory only he and Binder frequents whenever he visits.  
  
“So, let’s start today’s session then, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” he answers absently, dodging the quizzical stare from Syfer. Guess the other already thinks he’s a recluse. But much to his surprise, the other teen laughs again, only this time softer.  
  
“Great! By the way, call me the Reaper if you’re ever going to address me in black blood conversations, alright? It won’t do me good if someone finds me involved with the black blood project.”  
  
Why is he even surprised the Ægis has used his self-created term, much less turn this into a full-scale project?  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
November 11, 1991.  
  
That’s the day he writes the first of three personal (and only) accounts on the Niebelheim journal. That’s the also the day when he met who he will eternally call ‘the girl of his life’.  
  
It was at the Rosenkreuz palace where the sixth family invited him for a casual tea party. It just so happened he was taking a break from coven work hence he agreed to socialize. Under regular days, he doubts he’ll even consider an invitation, regardless of who it’s from.  
  
“She’s quite young,” was the first thing he told himself on the moment his eyes landed on a young girl, dressed like most seven year old girls by their mothers, with the most striking hair he had ever seen: pale gray, almost silver, but not too straight it seemed artificial. She looks very much like his father, who’s obviously very much proud of his daughter.  
  
Then the _other_ arrived, complete with golden blonde hair and bright green eyes, who Jeral later realized will be the bane of his existence, and soon, Binder’s as well.  
  
“Meet my children,” Zion Rosenkreuz proudly introduced the twins as he pushed them forward, the _other_ looking very displeased while the girl too shy for someone dressed to impress.  
  
The _other_ was the first to introduce. “Helios Rosenkreuz,” he said, looking up at him (he’s quite small, for a child of Rosenkreuz), staring at him as if they’re on the same pedestal of power. But Jeral didn’t mind. He even amused the child by lifting his own head, obviously mocking the child’s daring move to equal him, his lips twisting into that wry smile he occasionally gives Binder.  
  
Before he would even fully recognize the boy’s sudden glare and Zion Rosenkreuz’s amusement, he turned his head to the girl, kneeling on one knee so he could look at her on eye-level.  
  
Her eyes are lovely; a lovely blend of blue and grey, and you could never tell which shade is more dominant because it changes with every angle of her head. They’re childlike and oblivious to the world’s harsh reality, something that Jeral knows he had lost since he was child, an age younger than these two.  
  
That, most probably, would be why he felt—still feels, actually—quite attached to the girl.  
  
He lifted her chin with a finger, a thumb brushing against soft, petal lips as if he’s a prince who’s about to kiss the princess he had just met. The girl smiled, just a widening of lips.  
  
And when she introduced herself, her voice was the softest voice he had ever heard that he knew, without the oracle’s gift, she will grow up into the most beautiful enchantress.  
  
Without a doubt, by the time the sun set and he had to go back to his own manor, he knew how important this girl will be to his life.  
  
Selene Rosenkreuz is the most vital piece of the puzzle, the key to the completion of the black blood project.  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
It has become a routine for him to visit the Rosenkreuz castle whenever he has free time, even without invitation. He will just drop by, have some tea and play or share some stories to Selene. Zion Rosenkreuz never complains, and Jeral takes that as “I don’t mind as long as you don’t harm my children.”  
  
The twins obviously enjoy his visits, even if the _other_ puts up the front of an older, protective brother whenever his hand strays out to brush against Selene’s soft cheeks.  
  
He enjoys it the most whenever he makes the little girl blush. It makes her more human despite her doll-like appearance.  
  
One thing that doesn’t fail to escape his sight though is that both are exactly like their namesakes. Sun and moon, both are complete opposite of each other; one is loud while the other is quiet, one daring while the other shy. He finds it even more ironic yet fitting that one is gifted with fire while the other is ice.  
  
He doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he knows it’s something that’s very out of the blue.  
  
“You’re going to be my bride.”  
  
It’s not something that most seven year old girls hear, even if they belong to the most prestigious and noble families of the Niebelheim coven. One look at the other twin’s face and he would’ve known what the father’s reaction will be.  
  
Yet when the girl suddenly giggles like, well, a _girl_ , Jeral can’t stop himself from laughing as well, brushing the back of his finger against a cheek in one swift motion.  
  
It’s a pity that this girl won’t be seeing much of her future, if Fate keeps following her.  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
A month after the New Year’s Eve party, Jeral drops by at the Ægis headquarters. He has noticed he hasn’t been visiting much ever since Selene Rosenkreuz entered his life.  
  
Binder and Syfer are both present, at the laboratory arguing over something he can’t discern properly. They stop when they sensed his presence, and when Binder scowled darkly as Syfer sighed, he knows something unexpected happened.  
  
“What’s wrong?” He immediately asks.  
  
Syfer shakes his head and looks like he’s about to explain when Binder suddenly interrupts him, slamming the table with a fist, but not before glaring at him.  
  
“Where have you been all this time?”  
  
Jeral can’t quite find the voice in him to answer.  
  
Opting to look innocent and unaware, he shrugs and walks forward.  
  
“I have my duties as the heart.”  
  
“Liar. You’ve been frolicking around with the Rosenkreuz.”  
  
Prior to this meeting, Jeral have no idea the Harts are in constant disagreement with the rather old-fashioned. He always believes it’s just Binder having some issues against Zion, who clearly doesn’t mind showing his distaste towards the Hart.  
  
Before Binder can continue with his rants (which he now realizes is actually a habit of his when annoyed), Jeral quickly steers the conversation (or the lack thereof) back to that of his earlier question.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Thankfully enough, Syfer notices his cue and answers almost immediately, if not for the sake of shutting his own brother up.  
  
“We’ve just discovered a trail that may lead us to a neighboring coven.”  
  
“ _Which_ we are not sure of at all,” Binder snaps, turning to glare at his brother. “Stop broadcasting it to everyone!”  
  
“But the probability that this is it is higher than the not!”  
  
“It doesn’t hurt to be _extra_ careful.”  
  
“So what’s this coven like?” Jeral cuts in before this can turn into another argument. He has the feeling the previous one stems from something like this.  
  
Binder faces him with a frown, something that doesn’t grace his face unless angered or annoyed.  
  
“It’s a small one, and is probably just a century old. They only have three ruling bodies—or families, whichever term you prefer, two of which are not in good terms with each other.”  
  
“Sounds familiar, isn’t it?” Syfer scoffs. He stops himself from adding anything when two pairs of eyes glares at him.  
  
“So which part of this makes you not sure of it?”  
  
Neither of the two have a ready answer. Why is he even surprised?  
  
Finally, if not hesitantly, Binder answers, “They’re not… as regal as we are.”  
  
Ah, no wonder.  
  
“Racial discrimination, much?” The younger Hart chuckles, earning himself another glare from his brother. Meanwhile, Binder continues explaining. “It’ll be a problem if a pure Niebelheim blood will be mixed to that of an impure outsider, even if it’s considered pure to them.”  
  
For a long moment, even if it’s only barely a minute long, Jeral remains in silence, processing the information slowly over his head repeatedly.  
  
“What if we get a blood sample from this coven, a much higher of quality, and compare it to ours so they will match?”  
  
The stare he receives from Binder is unnerving, but Jeral knows it’s not of uneasiness. It’s more of silent admiration caused by disbelief.  
  
“You mean we get their equivalent of our pure?” He clarifies, to which Jeral nods in correction. Binder continues to stare at him incredulously, not caring anymore that his mouth is hanging wide agape, until finally, he closes it to shake his head a little.  
  
“How the hell are we supposed to capture a coven prince without crossing the line?”  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
“It isn’t that hard,” Binder will tell him days later, and truly enough, what he has guessed is true.  
  
On his next visit to the Ægis headquarters, there’s a pasty looking man, comatose, on a metal table. Nevertheless, Jeral is quite pleased.  
  
“Caught him at the Swiss Mountains. No joke.” Binder mutters as he continues giving shots to their newest sample. Jeral can only grin widely as he circles the table. “Syfer was hiking for some chocolates then _voila_ , here he is.”  
  
He even chuckles at the sarcastic joke, finally stopping opposite where Binder is standing. “Oh, yes. I can clearly see you’re very much serious.”  
  
“Hah. Wait till you hear the entire story from Syfer.”  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
“Straight from the sky,” is what Syfer told him with a huge smile. One that is bigger than his usual, take note.  
  
After ten minutes, Jeral still can’t fully comprehend the story. “So you’re telling me that this guy came from the heavens above like a God sent gift.” Only of course that it’s not really a God sent gift.  
  
Syfer nods. “And we shouldn’t be objecting to a blessing like this. _This_ , here,” he points at the still body, “is our key.”  
  
“Yeah, tell that to the guy who’ll be cooking up the excuses once _his_ coven starts asking why they can’t find their prince who has apparently gone missing in the middle of the Swiss Mountains.” Binder huffs loudly before finally leaving the laboratory to just the two of them. Smart move, he should say.  
  
“Binder,” Jeral calls out, but only the slamming of a door answers him. Yeah, smart move alright.  
  
He turns, his eyes going back to Syfer. “Do you have any idea on who this guy is?”  
  
“No.”  
  
He should have prepared himself for that.  
  
“And you insist on using him.”  
  
“Because we don’t know him, thus if _his_ coven points fingers at us, we can defend ourselves by saying we don’t know anything.”  
  
Jeral doesn’t know until now that his eyelids can actually drop halfway just to glare as his lips twists into a sneer. “That is the most stupid excuse I’ve _ever_ heard.”  
  
“If you’re thinking like a layman, then you’ll know where I’m coming from.”  
  
Jeral snorts in exasperation. “His coven, then? Do you at least know which coven he belongs to?” He tries again. Now he understands why Binder is like who he is now.  
  
“Bloodtests show it’s the Kremilhade coven. It’s not the same coven as that one we predicted. And the Kremilhade coven is…”  
  
As Syfer trails off, his eyes roll up as if the ceiling is suddenly much more interesting. Jeral doesn’t like the gesture at all.  
  
“The Kremilhade coven is the very coven that’s been looking for an excuse to _maim_ us.” Jeral finishes with a growl, obviously glaring at Syfer so hard he hopes it’ll bore a hole into the latter’s skull. How did this guy even manage to think it’s a good idea? “I know this project is suicidal for us, but that doesn’t mean we have to pull it off beyond the normal degree of suicidal.”  
  
“But this is perfect chance! Look at him! He’s the perfect pure blood prince of a coven that rivals ours! He is _perfect_!”  
  
He doesn’t know what else to say to further prove his disinclination. And seeing the partial victorious shine in Syfer’s eyes, he knows he’ll lose the argument completely if he remains speechless. Where is Binder when he needs him?  
  
“Tell me you agree with the fact that _this_ is the perfect chance to prove what you’ve wanted to prove all this time.”  
  
“But this isn’t…”  
  
“Then what is?”  
  
Jeral stares at Syfer, defeated.  
  
Yes, what is?  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
Three days have gone by with nothing but more arguments and disagreements and debates and whatnots that he can list. Syfer is becoming more and more aggravated with the failing numbers, and neither he nor Binder knows what to do to keep the younger Hart from going mad.  
  
Binder’s very tempted, actually, to just throw his brother into the asylum and the body of the comatose Kremilhade prince back to the Swiss Mountains so he can go back to eating chocolates while reading romance novels.  
  
“I don’t get it!”  
  
Jeral watches Syfer pacing around his office desk, too bored to think of a smart reply. Binder is on the couch, playing deaf. Why can’t he do that, too?  
  
“The figures aren’t adding up at all!”  
  
“Maybe it’s because our side isn’t pure enough?” Binder asks, which he notes is already the thirteenth time he asks that question. And stupidly enough, Syfer will always answer that question without realizing it’s been asked thirteen times.  
  
“Are you saying _we_ aren’t pure enough?!”  
  
“Actually…”  
  
The two brothers stop talking. Jeral smiles at them with half-lidded eyes.  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
The kidnapping of Selene Rosenkreuz is an utter failure. Instead of luring the girl out of the palace, they ended up with Helios Rosenkreuz, and much to Jeral’s dismay, that tiny mistake ruined _everything_. Within a matter of days, he has been summoned to the Congregation, facing all six family leaders who’re either frowning or glaring at him. Apparently, Lucian Romanov didn’t hold back in telling him about his newfound interest towards inter-coven mingling.  
  
It’s also unfortunate for him that Zion Rosenkreuz is the Rosenkreuz leader and holds more than half of the panel’s favor. It doesn’t bid him well that an enraged father will do anything to avenge his family’s name—to the point of putting Jeral’s power as the heart in danger.  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
Exactly a month after the Congregation, the Rosenkreuz castle is raided by a band of bandits, killing more than half of the castle’s occupants, Lady Rosenkreuz included in the count. No one knows who sent them. Even the Kudoku family is speechless that someone dared something they couldn’t. On the next afternoon, Jeral receives a call from Lucian Romanov, whose voice alone is enough to express his disappointment.  
  
“This isn’t a game, Jeral. I won’t let you use us for your amusement.”  
  
And when Jeral hangs up, he heads straight to the Ægis headquarter, arriving in record time, and barges straight into Binder’s office with the darkest look in his eyes.  
  
“I want Selene.”  
  
“It’s not going to be easy, not after the Lady’s murder.”  
  
“Then burn the entire Rosenkreuz burned to ashes once and for all.”  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
The massacre of the Rosenkreuz family only evokes fear towards him. Yet Jeral can’t blame them, not when he faces them with nothing but indifference, even when a new Congregation is brought to an end with an execution order directed at him. He’s the least surprised, too, that the Romanov is given the job to do it. Lucian Romanov, to be particular.  
  
“Extract it.”  
  
It is a precise order amidst the bewildering chaos controlling the entire Ægis headquarter. Everyone has evacuated. Only the three of them remain, along with little Selene and the still comatose man.  
  
And as he lets his heart reach out towards those entering the Ægis territory, Syfer stares at him, shocked. It’s not like they have much choice now. Either he let everything they’ve worked so hard for come to waste, or they salvage anything that can be salvaged.  
  
“Extract his blood. Get as many as we will need. We’re getting out of here.”  
  
“But Jeral…”  
  
“I don’t care if he’ll die or what,” it must be obvious now, the anxiety that’s beginning to get the better of his self-control. “We don’t have much time anymore.”  
  
“Jeral, we can’t just _drain_ this man dry—”  
  
“DO IT!”  
  
The light bulb bursts into dusts, clouding the room with darkness. The only source of light are from his eyes, pupils dilated as normally blue irises glow unnaturally dark. Jeral strides away from the window, the Niebelheim journal on hand. “We have less than an hour to leave London. The Romanov will burn this place down soon. They’ll do everything to get Rosenkreuz back, and we can’t get out of here unless we finish this—bring the blood black with us. We’ll just have to complete and test it elsewhere, once the coast is clear.”  
  
Before Syfer could protest any further, the door slams open. Binder rushes in, dragging the struggling Rosenkreuz princess along.  
  
“Romanov is near. We have to leave.”  
  
If he manages to nod and look calm despite the panic welling up inside, it must be because of the adrenaline rush. Minutes from now, this lab will be brought down along with its many memories and hints of experiments by his own hands. It may not be much, but he has to cover their deeds, even if just by half. He has to buy them some time to escape.  
  
“Here,” Syfer hands him a vial, filled to the stopper with dark red blood. “There’s three more in the bag. Once we kill the man, his blood will be void. That’s the least I can do to keep in the question for a while.”  
  
“Alright. Take these and Selene with you and get the hell out of here. There’s a safehouse at Milan that you can use.” He orders. Syfer instantly leaves. Binder remains, watching him carefully.  
  
Then he gasps, his chest searing hotly as his eyes screw shut, his heart suddenly twisting as clashes of different emotions enter him, invading every inch of his being.  
  
“Jeral?!”  
  
_Hurts_. It _hurts_.  
  
“Hey! Get a hold of yourself!”  
  
Hands close down on his arms, dragging him back to his feet. But he can’t differentiate anymore if they’re real or not, not when there are more hands grabbing him from below. He can’t tell which hand belongs to whom. They’re pulling him from both sides— _it fucking hurts_.  
  
“Damn it! Jeral! Get up! Fight it!”  
  
_“Just get out of here!”_  
  
The moment he raises his eyes, they meet Binder’s wide, shocked ones. Then he groans instantly as a new wave of emotion surges in, this time more powerful than before. Half of it belongs to Binder, those of disbelief and agitation, as the other probably from those outside waiting for an order to blow this place up.  
  
Yet nothing can stop him from hearing Binder’s voice clearly, despite the many screams and cries in his head, around his soul.  
  
_“I can’t just leave you here. Not after everything. They’ll kill you.”_  
  
He might have laughed if only pain isn’t gripping him so tight. It is funny and oh so ironic that it is he who he initially despised becomes he who he now trusts the most.  
  
_“You have to. And take the journal with you. Everything is in there, even those you don’t know.”  
  
“But…”_  
  
With his last breath, he pulls away from the invisible force keeping him down, finally pouring out every ounce of energy in him to push Binder away. “Just go!” He screams as explosions after explosions start detonating outside. Jeral isn’t sure if it’s his last words that ultimately convince Binder to run away with one last glance. But nevertheless, he’s happy Binder is gone, taking with him his dreams. He will let Binder fulfill his dreams as he will guide him to its fulfillment.  
  
Crawling to the farthest corner of the room, Jeral leans against the wall, an arm outstretched, palm opened towards the crumbling ceiling. He stares at the vial.  
  
As the building finally collapses on him, he smiles, the vial shattering, glass shards stabbing his palm as he feels the tingling of something foreign and _powerful_ enters his bloodstream.  
  
_“I’ll be back.”_  
  
  


\--

  
  
  
Lucian watches the tomb keeper plants the slab of granite into the soil, the carved, golden name of Jeral Simoni glinting under the sunlight. Beside him, Jonathan remains silent with his back turned.  
  
It makes him wonder at most times how a boy who’s so unsure of himself, of his capabilities and responsibilities become _this_ ; a deviant, a wanted man, a _murderer_.  
  
“In the end, you win the game.”  
  
And as the wind carries his words to god knows where, Lucian turns away.  
  
This only ends the beginning of what he foresees will be a long war.


End file.
